


Momentarily

by bakedgoldfish



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-21
Updated: 2003-08-21
Packaged: 2019-05-15 05:03:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedgoldfish/pseuds/bakedgoldfish
Summary: She asked him a question. He answered, but not without some thought.





	Momentarily

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Momentarily**

**by:** Baked Goldfish

**Pairing(s):** CJ/Toby  
**Category(s):** Mid-ep  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Please don't sue.  
**Summary:** She asked him a question. He answered, but not without some thought.  
**Spoiler:** Exactly two lines from SGTE, SGTJ.  
**Author's Note:** I'm not sure if this angle's been done before; I wouldn't be surprised if it has been. Apologies if this has been done. Also, apologies if this hasn't been done but sucks in this particular story. This is my first time doing het beyond PG-ish, so... yeah. 

[-----]

"You want to make out with me right now, don't you?"

For a split second-

He thought about it. He thought of her lips on his, and how it would feel. Would he touch her softly? Would she grab him roughly? He thought about it. Perhaps he would suck on her bottom lip, and she would gasp at his ministrations. His thumbs would be on her nipples, and her hands might be on his sides, leaving marks. They might just forget to breathe, and they would come up for air suddenly, momentarily, before depriving each other of oxygen once more.

Maybe she would run her hands down his back, to his hips, and maybe his hands would cup her ass. He would get hard quickly, because she could do that to him. He would kiss her, at the corner of her mouth, and make his way down her long neck until he reached the hollow where her collarbones and neck all came together; and he would flick his tongue in, swirling over her hot, pale skin, and revel in the way he could feel and hear her blood thrumming in her veins. 

He would definitely work his hands under her shirt. How would that expanse of warm, smooth back feel under his hands, he wondered. Soft, and inviting. She would tremble as his fingers grazed the small of her back, and her hips, and she would press her lips to his, part them, taste him. He knew that he would do the same, and maybe they'd be sitting on a couch, with her straddling his hips. They would grind against each other, and he wondered if the couch would be in some secluded office, or at one of their apartments.

Her bra would be unclasped by him, and he would unbutton her perfectly professional silk blouse. Those smooth, rounded breasts that he saw through that clingy, pale, wet dress when she'd fallen into her pool angry and blind without her glasses, would be presented to him like a banquet, and he would savor their taste like sweet strawberries on a summer evening. Perhaps he would delve lower and swirl his tongue around her navel, and savor that, too. His lips would travel further down, as his hands rested on her belly, or thighs, and he'd run his tongue against her skin until he was able to drink her. She would shake, and he would enjoy it.

Briefly, he wondered if she would allow him to take it further. If she would allow him to enter her, to be so connected to her that the world would fall away around them and they would know nothing but the moment they were in. He wondered if they would be still mostly clothed, or if they would be completely naked, or if it would be some form of compromise. Perhaps she would like it hard, or soft, or perhaps they would again compromise; they were, after all, politicians, and compromising was what they did best. She would scream, he knew, and he also knew she would be just as good as she sometimes, in moments of exasperation, claims to be. It could last long, or it might not, but either way it would be dazzling. Of that, he was sure.

He wondered if afterwards, they would do it again. Maybe not; he would probably tell her that he'd need an intravenous feed of coffee before he could do any more, she would smack him, and they'd go to sleep. Or back to work, depending on the location.

For a split second, he thought about it. Then: 

"Well, when don't I?"

-end- 


End file.
